Spirituality | Metaphysics | Consciousness | Life

When I think of 9-11, I’m humbled and amazed by the resilience and strength of the human spirit.

It’s hard for me to imagine that fifteen years have already passed since the New York skyline was streaming with smoke and two gleaming symbols of American might were torn asunder. In many ways, the destruction the world witnessed on September 11, 2001 spelled the end of humanity’s innocence. Millions of people all around the world watched in abject horror as shattered glass, building debris, and the bodies of living human beings rained down on the panic-choked streets of Manhattan.

Although I was thousands of miles away at the time, I’ll never forget how it felt that day. Unable to tear my eyes away from the television as the tragic scenes from New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington, D.C. played out on the screen, I felt intense and unrelenting waves of disbelief, anger, and grief. On that one fateful day, nearly 3,000 innocent men, women, and children lost their lives because of the hate, intolerance, and arrogance of a very few. What struck me as being especially bitter, however, was the death of over 400 of our finest first responders, our fire fighters and police officers. It was they who made the greatest sacrifice—for they were ones who rushed into the fray for the sole purpose of saving the lives of others.

In my community, the fire department honors the loss of these responders every September 11th by placing a small flag with a biographical profile for each on the firehouse lawn. Impressed by the display on our way by last night, my son and I stopped for a few moments to pay our respects. As I made my way slowly through the hundreds of flags, I thought about these fine men and women, their surviving colleagues, friends, and families. I could scarcely imagine the horrors they experienced that day and my heart was filled to overflowing with compassion for all of them.

When I awakened to a perfect, brilliantly blue sky this morning and thought about how I felt, the word “cathartic” immediately came to mind. It’s not a word I usually use and, to be quite honest, I had to look it up to be sure what it meant. The dictionary generally defines “cathartic” as a purging or releasing of emotional tensions. The Greek root meaning for this word is something on the order of “cleansing”. I’m not exactly sure why, but I felt the word was perfect for the way I felt. For some reason, I felt a strange and profound sense of peace over the events that occurred fifteen years ago today.

As I sometimes do on this day, I sat down to watch the movie, “World Trade Center”, starring Nicholas Cage and Michael Peña. It’s the true story of New York Port Authority Police Sergeant John McLoughlan and Officer Will Jimeno, both of whom became trapped in the rubble of the World Trade Center when the Twin Towers fell. Both survived and were rescued, rather miraculously it seems, by two former U.S. Marines who were unofficial volunteers at the site. As I watched the movie again, this time I was able to see it through a slightly different viewpoint than I ever have before. Today, I saw it through the eyes of one who has been spiritually healed.

I suddenly realized that, for me, the cause of this tragedy didn’t matter nearly so much as the fact that millions of people from across the globe came together as one family—all of them filled with Love and Compassion for so many others who were suffering.

At the end of the movie, Sergeant McLoughlan (played by Nicholas Cage) narrates over scenes of a reunion party that was held two years after his rescue. As he and Officer Jimeno are welcomed by their guests and loved ones at the reunion, Sergeant McLoughlan says, “Nine-eleven showed us what human beings are capable of. The evil? Yeah, sure. But it also brought out the goodness we forgot could exist. People taking care of each other; for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. It’s important for us to talk about that good. To remember. ‘Cause I saw a lot of good that day.”

To this day, I’m humbled and amazed at the resilience and strength of the human spirit. I’m held in utter awe by the selfless courage and compassion of those who risked and lost everything for the sake of people they didn’t even know. That is the face and future of humanity. That is the hope for a new world—and it’s one where such cruelty and such heroism need never be repeated. As compassionate human beings, we can rise above the differences that separate us.

We are one people, one spirit, one family. And it’s long past time we started acting that way.

Everyone would benefit if we practiced even a little more tolerance in our lives!

I’ve been reading quite a bit lately about “ego”, its effect upon us, and how it influences the way we interact with one another. Ego, as that part of self that sees us as being separate from everyone and everything else, often manifests itself as the need to be “right”, in charge or control of a situation, or defend our pride against a perceived offense. While the ego may have developed as a primitive way to ensure one’s survival, it’s quite clear that a great many of mankind’s difficulties and conflicts have been sparked or enflamed by the egos of the individuals involved!

Interestingly enough, I had an opportunity to see a perfect demonstration of this played out in front of me recently. In this situation, a confrontation erupted between two people when their paths inadvertently crossed at my workplace. One found himself in the way of the other and both, in their rush to get things done, were apparently less than respectful to one another. One took offense at the other’s brusqueness and, when a similar encounter between the two occurred several minutes later, tempers flared. When the two approached one another rudely and exchanged angry words, the entire scene reminded me of two angry wolves, circling one another and snarling over territory, simply because one wished to pass by the other in the forest!

While the two did manage to calm down, discuss the issue, and resolve things in a mutually acceptable manner, I somehow felt that the entire situation could have been avoided if either one had simply chosen to “take The High Road”.

Are we so sensitive that we demand respect before we offer it to others?

Once we’ve given respect, do we become angry if we don’t immediately receive it in return?

Are we in so much of a hurry that we no longer care about the needs of our fellow human beings?

Have we become so stressed by our own lives that we feel the need to push our stress onto others?

If we find ourselves saying “yes” to any of these questions, I think it may be time to lighten up just a bit!

As I make my way through the many challenges of life, I’m finding that it’s much easier to let others’ indiscretions pass than it is to “throw fuel on the fire”, so to speak. There may be a thousand reasons why people behave the way they do and, in all likelihood, they don’t have anything to with me. It doesn’t serve me, them, or anyone else well to react angrily to their confrontation. I’m also finding that, by not taking things personally, I’m able to remain calm and react in a more detached, rational manner.

I’m thinking that all of us might benefit from practicing a bit more tolerance and understanding in our lives. The brief moment it takes to take a deep breath and mentally step back from a tense situation might be all it takes to ensure that our reaction doesn’t become an over-reaction. Just imagine how our world might change if everyone were to try that. And if that doesn’t work, I suppose we could always wrap some bright yellow “CAUTION” tape around us when we’re in an unfriendly mood and just want to be left alone.

Does the “Spirit World” really communicate with us through subtle signs?

I find it interesting that so many others who have an interest in spiritual and metaphysical study seem to have such astounding experiences that encourage them along their way. So many others report having profound visions during meditation, an ability to connect directly with loved ones who have passed and beings from other dimensions, or witness paranormal activity with their own eyes.

Me? Not so much.

I, it seems, am a very tough case! Sure, I believe in many things I can’t see. I believe in many of the accounts others share of otherworldly beings and contacts. I believe that many other forms of intelligent and energetic life exist even beyond the farthest reaches of our Cosmos and our understanding. I believe that our consciousness lives beyond the grave—and that we are eternal souls. But without actual firsthand proof of these things, it seems I only have my faith in the accounts of others to go on.

Then there are days like today. I experience yet another synchronicity that subtly suggests that many worlds exist beyond ours—and that spiritual energies help nudge us along to the exact places we are supposed to go.

Before I share my account of today’s rather mystical events, I suppose I must explain that my paternal grandmother was a very spiritual person. She considered all religions as valid and wonderful pathways to personal discovery. Although raised under the umbrella of Western Christianity, she studied and deeply appreciated other religious paths, particularly those which touched the Eastern philosophies of Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism. She meditated quite often (although she often told us she was “just resting her eyes”) and spent much of her life in deep contemplation of Source, Our Universe, and our place within the Unity.

I was born and raised for most of my younger years in San Francisco and, since my grandmother lived not far from us, she spent a great deal of time exploring the city with me in tow. No matter where we went, whenever she spied a church or house of worship of nearly any kind, she would be drawn to it, much as a moth to a flame.

“Oh,” she’d exclaim, “what a lovely little church! We simply must go inside for a visit.”

Even at five or six years of age, I must have rolled my eyes and grinned—much as I do now when I recall those precious moments.

“Yes, Grandma…” I’d sigh with resignation. But I really didn’t mind. Our visits to these old churches, with their heavy wooden doors; cool, dark, and echoing interiors, and peaceful energy, left me feeling happy and at peace with myself. We’d go in, sometimes light a votive candle or two, and sit for a few moments on the smooth wooden pews. Grandma usually wasn’t much on ritual, but she’d sometimes make the sign of the cross and close her eyes in meditative prayer. I’d do the same, but instead of making a connection with Spirit, I’d pretend to pray and sneak peeks at the beautifully crafted statues and stained glass windows instead. I’ll always remember how beautiful my grandmother looked at those times—her wrinkled hands resting peacefully upon her lap and her softly lined face a perfect reflection of heavenly bliss.

When my grandmother was here in the physical, she loved butterflies. Well, she loved butterflies and ladybugs, but butterflies were her favorite. Especially the Monarch Butterfly, with its bright orange and black wings. She’d always point them out excitedly, every time she saw one. In the many years following her passing, I’ve come to understand that butterflies are “Heaven’s Messengers”. A great many psychic mediums have identified these delicate, colorful creatures as being used to convey messages from the spirit world to us, in our dense 3D-ness. I’ve even noticed myself that, many times, shortly after thinking of my grandmother, either a butterfly will flutter by very closely or a ladybug will land on my arm. To my mind, the frequency that this occurs is far beyond the statistical margins of “chance”.

But I digress.

Since today was one of the last few days before my teenage son starts school, I had offered to take him and his lovely girlfriend on a jaunt to Chinatown for lunch. They agreed, so we headed into the city from the suburbs. We hopped off the train, trekked through the downtown financial district, and found ourselves seemingly in another part of the world. If you haven’t seen it, San Francisco’s Chinatown is a mystical feast for the senses. Established in 1848, it is known as the largest Chinatown outside of Asia and the oldest in North America. Handsome, multi-story brick buildings line the street and strings of brightly colored lanterns, banners, and even drying laundry hang from balconies and light poles. Large glass windows offer expansive views into quaint, old-fashioned storefronts. Bright, colorful wares are often stacked floor to ceiling—and some goods even spill out onto the sidewalks to beckon the throngs of shoppers in.

As we walked down the street, smelling the wonderful aromas of incense and food being cooked in nearby restaurants, I noticed a tall, brick church that looked familiar. The sign in front read, “St. Mary’s Church” and I remembered it as one that my grandmother and I had visited nearly fifty years ago. I grinned at my son, mentioned that she and I had once been there, and suggested that we go inside “for a visit”. He wasn’t really interested—in fact, he and his girlfriend wanted to go play “Pokemon Go” on their phones at a park, just across the street instead.

I was somewhat disappointed at their not joining me, but as a parent, I get it—after all, who would want to go in some old boring building with your dad when there are lots of wild virtual creatures to catch with your girlfriend, outside, in a bustling city?

So we parted ways momentarily and I disappeared into the nearly empty church. Just as my grandmother and I had done so many years ago, I lit a candle, found a quiet pew, and sat for a few moments. Now, much older, I did meditate for a few moments—but some things haven’t changed. I must admit that I stole a few glances at the stained glass and the familiar figures in alcoves along the walls. I thought about my grandmother, somehow just trusting she was there with me, and wondered if I would ever really feel her presence as I have done on a few very rare occasions.

Sadly, not feeling anything in particular, I shrugged my shoulders and got up to leave. I walked out of the church into the sunshine and walked across the street to the little park where my traveling companions waited. I found them on a bench and, much as I had expected, they were deeply engrossed in their technological adventures.

“C’mon guys…” I encouraged. “Let’s visit a couple of more shops and head to lunch. The place where my grandma and I once ate is right across the street and the food is fantastic!”

As they got up and we turned to leave, something caught my attention. There, out of the corner of my eye and behind some trees, I had noticed a brightly painted mural on the bottom floor of a very old apartment building. Once can scarcely imagine my surprise when I saw, much larger than life, two monarch butterflies painted on a garage door!

Now it didn’t escape me that, because of the position of this mural, there is absolutely no way I could have seen it from the front stairs of the church. The only way I could have seen it is to walk over to this park…and if my son hadn’t wanted to play his game there, I wouldn’t have seen it at all.

I laughed aloud, pointed out the mural, and told them both why seeing the butterflies meant so much to me. Although they may be young and somewhat skeptical, I don’t think the significance of the finding was entirely lost on them. My son’s girlfriend even mentioned that sometimes her family has seen what they too interpret as “signs from above”. She and her family have noticed on several occasions that, just when they are thinking or talking about her grandparents, lights or other electrical appliances will turn on for no logical reason.

So, once again, Spirit has sent me a “sign” that we and our loved ones are never truly gone. And once again, all I have is a wispy “inkling” in the place of rock-solid proof. But that’s OK. I suppose it’s much more fun that way…when Spirit plays a mystical game of “hide and seek” with us incarnated human beings.

One day, when my son has a family of his own, I hope he returns to Chinatown and recounts the story of the day his dad received a sign from Spirit. Perhaps then, if I’ve moved on to other realms, it’ll be my turn to send him a sign of his own. And I’ll just bet he’ll be awake and aware enough to notice it.

Hey, it’s now 5:55 as I’m writing this!

That just reminded me of what comedian Jeff Foxworthy used to always say in his show…“There’s your sign!”

Several days ago, I had the privilege of rescuing a tiny young house finch whose feet and legs had become tightly bound together by several strands from her own nest. She had been flapping her wings in a desperate attempt to escape for quite some time and was hopelessly trapped, a dozen or so feet above the ground, under some solar panels where I work.

As soon as I heard about the bird’s predicament, I knew I had to help. I borrowed a tall ladder and soon found myself perched rather shakily at the top, sweating in near 100-degree heat. It was no easy task—trying to free her gently without causing her further injury. Her little legs were crusted with dried blood and a part of one of her wings was rubbed raw by her struggles, but she fought bravely against her unforgiving bonds and me as well.

Working to free her, I was impressed by her incredible will to survive. As I felt her frantic heart pounding wildly against my hand, I suddenly felt an intense Love and Compassion for this small, seemingly insignificant creature. I was instantly and profoundly humbled, for she had reminded me that the gift of life should be cherished—in all its many forms. It occurred to me that this is an important lesson many human beings must still not understand, for so many of us still continue to harm one another (and so many other of Nature’s creatures too).

While I carefully pulled the nest apart and gazed into this little bird’s frightened black eyes, I thought about the reasons so many humans seem to have such little respect for life. I came to realize that, in many ways, this callous disregard is just a dark shadow from some very old and clearly outdated ways of thinking and reacting. For thousands of years, mankind has somehow come to see itself as being completely separate from everything else. Like this little bird, from our earliest roots the drive to survive has taught us to be suspicious or even hostile to those who are not familiar to us.

In our troubled human history, it hasn’t been unusual at all to see new neighbors fear, compete with, and even kill one another—simply because they perceived themselves as being different from one another. Unfortunately, even those with close familial ties had (and still have) no guarantees. Those who’ve had disabilities, behaved differently, or somehow failed to meet “cultural standards” were often ridiculed, beaten, shunned from society, or even killed. In some situations, this habit of discrimination may have been seen as a way to limit the spread of illness or disease, but in far more cases these primitive fears and their resulting brutality were completely unnecessary and utterly baseless.

As shards of glass will scatter when a window pane is dropped upon a hard surface, humanity itself has become shattered. And, while the human population has grown, so it seems have our differences. Tribes became clans, clans became villages, villages became cities, and cities became states and nations. Instead of seeing our differences as beautiful and unique expressions of Creation and accepting them as such, we continued to cling to our old, familiar biases. Today, people allow themselves to be eternally divided by their own beliefs and allegiances. When we aren’t divided by national origin, language, or culture, then we’re divided by race, skin color, religious belief, or political philosophy. If these differences aren’t enough, we divide ourselves by age, physical appearance, sexual orientation, and gender. We’re even judged and segregated by the kind of cars we drive, the brands of clothing we wear, the sports teams and celebrities we worship, and the type of “smart phones” or technology over which we obsess. And the lists of things that separate us just goes on and on…

To make matters worse, recent tensions between some members of our community and the police have led to even greater divisiveness. Resulting slogans of “Black Lives Matter” and “Blue Lives Matter” seem only to have fanned the flames of conflict, as do claims that the phrase, “All Lives Matter” somehow disrespects or minimizes the feelings of those who are suffering from the violence on both sides of the issue.

Seriously, has it come to that? Have things gotten so bad that even those with the utmost respect for life are now vilified and attacked for their Compassion?

I would suggest that if we are to evolve as a species, we must stop looking at one another through the myopic lenses of ignorance, prejudice, and fear. At some point we must begin seeing each other as fellow travelers, all sharing a life together on this beautiful Earth home of ours.

It’s now well past time for us to wake up! It’s time for us to end this insanity! It’s time for us to see that generations of insecurity, competition, and conflict have left us all struggling to find common ground and the understanding that, when it all comes down to it, we are all one race. Differences are wonderful, of course, for they make us each stand out from one another–just as the individual grains of sand appear different upon a tropical beach. But in the end, we are One Tribe. One world. One people. One Spirit.

It took a chance encounter with a small bird for me to fully understand that all are important. All are equal. And all are loved beyond measure—even the tiniest house finch.

So please…let’s learn something from the struggle of this little feathered creature. Let us remember that all life is precious and irreplaceable, all life is sacred, and all lives truly matter.

With Love,

PS: In the end, I was finally able to free this little bird and take her to a local wildlife facility for treatment. Several days later, I was disappointed to learn that she didn’t survive her difficult ordeal. While I am saddened by her loss, I’m profoundly grateful to her for reminding me how wonderful, fleeting, and precious life is. And I’ll continue to honor her gift every each and every day by appreciating the Life Spirit in all things—no matter how great or small they may be.

Happy Mother’s Day to all who unselfishly nurture and care for others—just as any mother would.

On this Mother’s Day, as we think about, acknowledge, and honor all the beautiful souls who have brought life into the world, I’d like to express my gratitude and appreciation to all women—and indeed, the sacred aspects of femininity that exist everywhere!

Whether or not they have physically conceived, carried, or given birth to a child, there have been countless examples of blessed beings (both men and women) who have embraced what many perceive to be expressly feminine or so-called “motherly” traits. These often include such virtues as empathy, compassion, acceptance, and creativity. We see examples of this every day—when people (and even animals) care for, nurture, and share unconditional love with others.

I’m reminded of a pond near my home where a large goose has, for several years now, taken on a role as protector of many young ducklings. The goose, who is clearly not the progenitor of these youngsters, follows them and their mothers around, keeping a wary eye out for would-be predators and fearlessly warding them off. Although the goose is not a mother herself, it has quite unselfishly taken on such a role. To me, this exemplifies the finest qualities of motherhood and unconditional love.

It’s important for us to understand that, although our physical bodies may reflect a certain gender, we humans are most spiritually balanced when we embrace and honor both our Divine Masculine and our Divine Feminine sides. This simply means that we can allow ourselves to freely express whichever aspect is needed and most appropriate for a given situation, regardless of any preconceived notions about gender or any perceived societal role.

For far too many millennia, humankind has denied, persecuted, subjugated, and suppressed the feminine. This has resulted in a patriarchal modern society where women and the Divine Feminine must struggle to find equality in religion, government, industry, community, and even family. Although much progress has been made, particularly in the past few decades, it’s high time for all women—indeed, all human beings, to step forward in their power as Divine, Sovereign Individuals. All must be free to become the highest expression of themselves, regardless of gender.

So on this “Mother’s” Day, I’d like to recognize and honor not just all the moms out there, but the beautiful spirit of “Motherhood” that beats powerfully in the hearts of so many others. Whether you’re a grandparent, parent, aunt, uncle, or any other caregiver, it doesn’t matter if you are male, female, or someone’s biological mother. If you’re caring for someone as any mother would, you serve as a shining light and nurturing example of all that is right in the world.

For many, it is difficult to imagine the unspeakable horrors of war. The bitter stench of cordite, explosive rending of earth, air, and sea; and indiscriminate destruction of all that would stand in the way of victory are just the beginning. There is the inconsolable and heart-wrenching ache of homesickness. There are the inescapable miseries of Spartan living and the tempestuous wrath of nature. There is an arrogant fury, fueled by an illusory sense of righteousness that drives combatants to commit unspeakable acts. There are the lies, manipulations, and raw determination of the brutal and ruthless powers on both sides of the conflict. Finally, there is the bare and abject fear that shivers through the veins of all who witness its atrocities. While the horrors of war are experienced to some extent by all, they are disproportionately reflected in the blank faces of the young–for it is most often they who must bear the burden of orders to fight and kill, suffer, or die.

While the costs of war are many, there is little doubt that its highest wages are paid through the wholesale slaughter of humanity. Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, friends and neighbors; all, regardless of guilt or innocence, are ground under the wheels of martial advancement. Many lose their homes and livelihoods. Many must live the remainder of their lives with debilitating injuries of mind, body, and soul. And many will die. But in the end, all suffer horribly. It is this carnage, the wanton waste of human blood, muscle, organ, and bone–indeed, the callous disregard of Life itself, that is the greatest transgression of war.

In our modern world of instant communication and artificial imagery, it is difficult to imagine how thousands of young men must have felt, just over 100 years ago in 1914. At that time, what was thought to be “The War to End All Wars” (World War I) was being waged on the front lines between France and Germany. While most of the world lay warm in their beds on that Christmas Eve, two determined armies huddled miserably in muddy trenches, facing one another across a dark and battered stretch of no-man’s land. Much as pawns in a violent game of chess, these men were trapped between a wet and bitterly cold winter and the relentless grinding of their countries’ military machines. But in a moment of silence, just when the hour must have seemed darkest, a Christmas Miracle occurred. Despite incredible odds and the stubborn efforts of the leaders on both sides to stop it, The Spirit of Peace prevailed.

According to most accounts, the uncertain cease-fire began with a song. German soldiers, apparently overcome by homesickness, began singing Christmas carols. Allied soldiers on the other side of the lines, fearing a trick of some kind, listened and watched with surprise and suspicion. Before too long however, someone on their side joined in. Others soon followed and it wasn’t long before voices rose on both sides of the trenches. One can scarcely imagine the surreal nature of that moment, for here were two bitterly opposed armies that had been wounding and killing each other for months. Now, instead of destroying each other in the cold darkness, each side was singing the same song in its own language. Somehow, and in some miraculous way, these men were connecting to a sense of something–something that was quickly bridging the gap created by the broken bodies of their fallen comrades, the torn earth, and the rigid doctrines that seemed to separate them.

As the night progressed and Christmas dawned the next day, both sides of the conflict came together in a strange new way. Enemies looked directly into each others’ faces, shook hands, and respected one another as equals. Each came to understood that his enemy was a human being, much the same as he was–and that each had his own hopes and dreams, a home, and family. These men, wearing different uniforms, speaking different languages, and representing violently opposing views, found a way to lay down their arms and share something that transcended their differences. For at least a few hours it seems, humanity returned to the front lines. All that day, after burying and honoring the dead on both sides, the men shared stories, food, and photos of home. They played soccer and traded keepsakes. They laughed. They sang. Together, in the midst of a war, they found a way to celebrate the season that reminds us that Love and Peace are among the most cherished of all things to blessed with in this life.

Unfortunately, as Christmas passed and the glowing spirit of this spontaneous armistice faded away, the ugliness of war returned. The peaceful space that had briefly existed between to armies was torn asunder. It wasn’t long before the crack of small arms fire, thud of artillery, and screams of the dying drowned out the echoes of songs and joyful laughter–but the fact that, for a time at least, songs and laughter could be heard at all among the trenches on that cold, dark Christmas Eve was clearly a miracle. And it’s one that should always be remembered.

As we look forward to spending this Holiday Season with our own friends and loved ones, perhaps we may find a moment to reflect on this event and look within. Perhaps we may find a way to overcome some of our own prejudices, the ones that make us feel so different and separate from other human beings. Instead of seeing only differences and gaps to be bridged between us, perhaps we may begin to see and embrace our commonalities–that is, the things that we share, and begin to accept all fellow beings as our brothers and sisters. While we may have been taught to see unfamiliar beliefs, geo-political borders, and cultural traditions as differences to resolve or challenges to be overcome, are they not simply opportunities to learn fresh, new ways of experiencing our beautiful world? And what if we were to begin learning to accept them as such?

If human beings were always able to seek common ground and respect one another as individuals, perhaps conflicts like those surrounding the Christmas Armistice of 1914 would never again be necessary. I, for one, know that it can be done. After all, if the power of a Season and a song stopped a war once, it can certainly do so again!

May all the Joy, Wonder, and Peace of the Holiday Season be yours–not just today, but always.

I just wanted to briefly share that I’ve started a new blog called “Brighter World Press”. While “Remembering Infinity” is more of a personal blog that features my own original writings, I wanted to start a blog that would appeal to nearly anyone–and one through which I could share positive, heartwarming, and inspiring photos, stories, and videos from all over the Internet.

Rest assured that I’m not planning any major changes for “Remembering Infinity” but I hope you’ll enjoy this new venture too. If you do appreciate the new blog, please feel free to share the positive “vibes” with others!